The Man with the Rubber Chicken Tattoo
by kjewls
Summary: Nick has a rather unique tattoo on his backside. Jess is about to become intimately acquainted with it, in this alternate ending to the episode "Kids"
1. Chapter 1

"They call me the anchor, because I tend to bring the women I date down."

Seated just centimeters apart from one another on the floor outside Jess' bedroom, Jess and Nick are trying in vain to talk young Sarah off the metaphorical ledge, or . . . more specifically, out of Jess' bedroom. While Nick is busy admitting to all the things that should render him completely un-dateable to any self-respecting eleven year-old (or late twenty-something-year old, for that matter), Jess finds herself inconveniently captivated by his eyes. They really are quite a unique shade of brown . . . not at all poo-colored, as Sarah had suggested. Jess would classify them more as mocha-fudge, with just the slightest hint of green around the edges . . . an aspect of them that only becomes apparent when he smiles, like he is doing right now.

_Mint mocha fudge,_ Jess decides, which, coincidentally, also happens to be her favorite flavor of ice cream.

But it isn't just the _color_ of Nick's eyes that are drawing Jess into their orbit, like an ocean at high tide. It's something more intangible. Nick's eyes are wise beyond their years . . . slightly jaded, perhaps, but also unusually kind. They are looking at her right now . . . with a look of amusement, and something else she can't quite place . . . intensity, maybe, or _longing_ . . .

"I have a tattoo of a rubber chicken on my butt," Nick blurts out, suddenly, shaking Jess out of her reverie.

"NICK MILLER, you are SUCH a liar," Jess exclaims loudly, playfully punching her roommate in the stomach. "I know, for a fact, that there is no such tattoo on your posterior. Because, I saw you nak . . ."

Jess stops herself just shy of revealing something _extremely_ inappropriate to the 11-year-old girl on the other side of the door. "I mean . . . ummm . . . I know for a fact that you don't have a rubber chicken tattoo on your butt . . . because I was born with a psychic gift for knowing what kind of tattoos people have on their body. _Not _because I have ever seen you naked . . . because only married people should see each other naked. And you and I are _not married_," she rambles awkwardly, her voice sounding unusually loud and high-pitched.

Nick grins sheepishly, and responds to Jess' inquiry, equally loudly, for Sarah's benefit. "Yes, Jess . . . you do . . . have a psychic sixth sense about the kind of tattoos people have on their bodies. But, if I recall correctly, that psychic sixth sense only applies to _people's fronts_. And that means that you have never seen . . . er . . . I mean . . . that your magical tattoo-finding powers would be incapable of _detecting_ what kind of tattoos I . . . I mean . . . people _like me_ . . . have on their _backsides?"_

Jess' eyes widen, and a mischievous smirk upturns the corners of her mouth. Nick is right. She only saw him naked from the front. His backside still remains a complete mystery to her. Then again, this gives him all the more incentive to lie . . .

"Show me," she mouths silently, pointing to the bathroom door, as she quietly rises to her feet.

Nick inclines his head toward Jess' still locked bedroom door, his face a question mark.

Jess nods. "Um, Sarah? Nick and I are going to have some silent time, while we reflect on what terrible people we both are to date. So . . . ahh . . . it's going to be quiet out here, for a little while. You should . . . umm . . . take this time to think about what awful people we are too," Jess explains, as she tiptoes to the bathroom, taking exaggeratedly wide steps, as she moves.

Nick just stares at her, shaking his head, dumbfounded.

When Jess sees that Nick isn't following her into the bathroom, she turns on her heel, and folds her arms across her chest. "Get over here, and show me your rumpshaker, Nick Miller. Or, be prepared to be called a liar, liar, pants on fire, for all eternity," she stage whispers.

Well, Nick certainly doesn't want to have his pants set on fire. (It actually happened to him once, during a particularly rough night at the bar. And it hurt like hell.) So, he follows Jess into the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

"OK, so remember I told you about that time I got involved in that cock fight in Mexico, after Caroline dumped me? Well, apparently, the night didn't end there," Nick whispers to Jess, as he feels the heat rise in his neck.

_Why am I so nervous? It's just Jess . . . in the bathroom with me . . . about to see my butt, for the first time._ Nick thinks to himself. _Wow, now, I'm REALLY nervous._

"Yeah, but a rubber _chicken tattoo_? _Really_?" Jess exclaims, raising her eyebrows with skepticism.

"Hey, it was a really vulnerable time for me! And that chicken really understood me, in a way no mere mortal could," Nick muses wistfully. "He's my home, Jess. My _home!"_

"Shut up, and pull down your pants, Farmer Miller," Jess replies sternly.

"OK . . . but you have to promise not to laugh. You know, like you did that _other time_," Nick pleads.

Jess puts her hands on both of Nick's shoulders, and looks him straight in the eyes. "Nick, I absolutely promise not to laugh at your rubber chicken tattoo," she says solemnly.

"Or my butt, in general . . ." Nick adds solemnly.

"Or your butt, in general," Jess parrots obediently.

"All right . . . but be prepared. This is something that, once you've seen it, you can't _unsee,_" Nick warns, as he unzips his fly, and lowers his pants toward his ankles, turning his body, so that his backside is facing Jess.

Little do Nick and Jess know that, at some point during this conversation, Sarah has emerged from Jess' bedroom. Now, she is standing silently, with her ear against the bathroom door and her hand over her mouth to keep from giggling.

"Woah! It's SO big! I didn't expect it to be so big," Sarah hears Jess say from the other side of the bathroom door. "Can I touch it?"

At this point, Nick is bending over awkwardly, and grabbing onto the sink for balance. "Um . . . yeah . . . I guess so. Just be gentle, OK? No one's really touched it before."

Sarah lets out a gasp that she hopes her babysitters don't hear . . .

Inside the bathroom, Jess tentatively places her finger on the large rubber chicken tattoo emblazoned across Nick's left butt cheek. Gaining more courage, she eventually replaces that finger with her entire hand. Slowly, but surely, she starts lovingly petting the darn thing, as if it's a real live chicken.

Nick bites his lower lip, and allows his eyes to fall closed for just a moment. He's shocked, and more than a bit freaked out, by how aroused this is making him. To put it kindly, Nick's "feathers have been ruffled." And he sincerely hopes that Jess doesn't notice.

Then, Jess starts using her fingers to make the fake chicken tattoo talk. "Hellooo . . ." she begins, with an oddly stilted voice that vaguely resembles that of an old British man. "I am the chicken on Nick's bum. I've been here for . . ." she pauses. "Nick, how long has it been since you dropped out of law school?"

"Six years," Nick admits glumly.

"Six years!" Jess concludes, resuming her Chicken Voice. "It gets so lonely here, sometimes. I would very much enjoy a female chicken companion on my other butt cheek - so, that the two of us could make eggs together."

Nick laughs in spite of himself. "Um, Jess?"

"Yeah, Nick?"

"Why does my butt chicken have a bad British accent?"

Jess ponders this for a moment. "You're right! You got him in Mexico! He probably speaks Spanish. The Spanish word for chicken is 'pollo,' right?"

Nick groans. "Yes, it's 'pollo,' Jess. Can I please pull up my pants, now?"

"Oh . . . yeah . . . sure," Jess says, feeling suddenly shy, as she turns to face the wall.

(Touching Nick's posterior has stirred up some feelings in Jess that she's not quite sure she's ready to explore . . .)

Upon hearing the telltale sounds of Nick's fly being zipped, Jess puts her hand on the doorknob. She is about ready to exit, when she feels Nick's hand on her shoulder, warm, and inviting. She turns abruptly, and finds herself staring directly into Nick's mint mocha fudge eyes. Her breathing quickens, and her mouth feels suddenly dry.

"So, what about you, Jess? Any secret tattoos that I should know about?" Nick inquires, his voice sounding ragged and husky.

Jess leans back against the wall, as she feels her heart beat faster in her chest. "Well, I . . . uh . . .," she stutters, as she stares into Nick's eyes, mesmerized.

He licks his lips, as she moves in closer, her eyes closing. By this point, the anticipation has become so unbearable, that Nick finds it almost physically painful. He watches as her lips pucker ever-so-slightly. _We're really doing this. _Nick thinks to himself. _This is actually going to happen._

"We should get back to Sarah," Jess mumbles, as she reaches behind her back to open the bathroom door, thereby, breaking the spell between them.

Nick sighs, as he reluctantly emerges from the bathroom. "Hey look, your door is open! She must have come out, while we were . . . um . . . yeah."

Jess tries to convince herself that she's relieved, and not disappointed. After all, she has a perfectly lovely boyfriend in Russell. Far be it for her to let an unexpected moment of twirliness screw up a good thing.

_A little extra time spent babysitting, Sarah, is just what I need_, she tells herself. _Because, Lord knows, I can't trust myself alone with Nick, right now._

"Sarah!" She calls out, poking her head inside her bedroom door.

Silence.

"SARAH!" Jess calls again, more loudly, as she peers into Nick's room, then Winston's, then Schmidt's.

"SARAH!" Nick's voice joins hers, as he searches the kitchen, the living room, and inside the coat closet. "Uhh . . . Jess?"

Jess turns to find Nick staring at the kitchen countertop. "Her backpack is gone," he tells her, apprehensively.

Immediately, Jess dashes toward the front door, which, just moments before had been double-locked and chained. Now, it is fully unlocked, and ever-so-slighty ajar.

Jess raises her hand to her forehead, and grabs on to the wall, to keep from passing out. "Oh my God, Nick!" She gasps. "I think I just lost my boyfriend's kid!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Well, THIS story took a completely different turn, after I watched the "Tomatoes" episode . . .**

"OK, Jess. Now, let's calm down, and trace our steps. Where did you see her last?"

"Nick, you KNOW where I saw her last! She was running into MY bedroom and crying, because she had the ridiculously BAD idea to fall in love with YOU!"

Nick nods guiltily. "Oh . . . yeah . . . that sounds about right."

Jess starts pacing frantically around the perimeter of the apartment, gesticulating wildly as she rambles. "I mean . . . she could be . . . ANYWHERE . . . She could have . . . joined the circus . . . or got on a tour bus, and become a groupie for some band . . . where everyone wears flannels, and has _your_ hair. She could be . . . prostituting herself on the street. And Richard Gere could drive by, and pay her $3,000 to pretend to be his girlfriend for a week. She could . . ."

Nick intercepts Jess somewhere around her third lap around the kitchen. He grabs her shoulders, and shakes her just firmly enough to snap her out of her reverie. Her eyes widen as they rise to meet his. Her breath is coming out in short, almost asthmatic, bursts. She feels as though her world is spinning out of control. And Nick's firm hands are the only things keeping her from flying off its axis.

He waits patiently for her breathing to slow and match his own, never allowing his eyes to leave hers. When he decides she's finally calmed down enough to listen, he speaks. "Jess . . . Sarah didn't join a band, or the circus, or become a prostitute. We were in the bathroom for maybe five minutes. She couldn't have gotten that far. We're going to find her. I promise."

Jess breaks eye contact with Nick, and focuses on the floor. "This is all _your _fault," she mutters under her breath.

Nick drops his hands from her shoulders, as if he's been burned. "What did you say?" He whispers.

"Nothing," Jess fibs, eyes darting from left to right, as she takes a step back from Nick.

Nick takes a step toward her, eyes narrowed. "NO . . . what did you SAY, Jess?" He inquires forcefully.

Jess begins to feel that burning sensation she gets in the pit of her stomach, whenever she's furious with her roommate. She tries to her best to hold back. But Nick is right there . . . his face inches from her own. His hot breath is on her neck, and his angry eyes are boring into her own. Before she can stop it from happening, emotions are spewing out of her like a geyser.

"_You_ . . . and your pre-pubescent girlfriends . . . and your flirty little comments . . . and your stupid butt . . . and your stupider butt tattoo . . . and your _face_ . . . and your _eyes_ . . . and this . . . this is ALL YOUR FAULT! ALL YOUR FAULT!"

Nick feels his own breathing quicken, as he takes another step toward her. A familiar heat is slowly creeping up the back of his neck. "My _face . . ._ my _eyes?" _He exclaims. "What the hell does any of that have to do with . . .?"

"SHUT UP!" Jess points her finger accusingly in Nick's face. "YOU . . . you just _had_ to bring me into the bathroom, didn't you? And you had show me your _dumb ass_, and tell me your _stupid_ story, about your ridiculous Mexican chicken fight. You just couldn't wait until Sarah left, could you? NO! Because you're _Nick Miller_. Mister Instant Gratification!"

Nick's fists clench and unclench reflexively. "Mr. Instant Gratification, huh? Well, if I recall correctly it was YOU who dragged _me_ into the bathroom. Because deep down, in places you don't talk about at parties, you WANTED to see my butt tattoo. You NEEDED to see my butt tattoo."

Jess moves her finger closer to Nick's nose, and starts wagging it back and forth. "Don't you do it, Nick! Don't you go quoting _A Few Good Men_ to me!"

"YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH . . . ABOUT MY BUTT!" Nick exclaims, as he takes yet another step toward Jess.

Now, the two of them are up against the kitchen counter. "I TOLD YOU NOT TO QUOTE A FEW GOOD MEN TO ME! I HATE THAT MOVIE! AND I HATE THAT YOU ALWAYS QUOTE IT." Jess screams.

"It's an American Classic, OK? I'm going to quote it as much as I want. And you can't stop me! So, get your _finger _out of my _face_, Jess."

"NO!" Jess yells back, as she repeatedly pokes Nick in the nose.

"Get your finger out of my face, or I will bite it off!" Nick counters.

Jess presses her finger firmly down on Nick's nose. Then she sticks out her tongue, and blows a raspberry at him. That's when Nick growls, lifts up his chin, and chomps down on Jess' forefinger.

"YOU . . . BIT . . . MY . . . FINGER!" Jess exclaims incredulously.

"Yeah, I did! What are you going to _do about it_, Jess?"

Before Jess can stop herself, her face is mashed up against Nick's. Her hands are tangled in his hair. He shifts his body instinctively, to accommodate hers. She feels her back hit the kitchen counter, as his muscular hips thrust against hers. His fingers tug forcefully on the fabric of her shirt. She coos gratefully, as his nose nuzzles her ear, and he begins to place hungry greedy kisses across the surface of her chest, allowing the tip of his tongue to dip perilously down toward the center of her cleavage.

Somehow, Jess manages to extricate herself from Nick's greedy mouth, and exploratory fingers. "What are we doing?" She whispers breathless. "What is this?"

"I don't know," Nick says, honestly, his hand self-consciously rising to rub the back of his neck.

"Why am I kissing you! I'm MAD at you! I can't stand the sight of you," Jess exclaims, eyes narrowing.

"Well, I can't stand the sight of YOU," Nick retorts, his voice husky, and insistent.

Two seconds later, they are going at it again. Nick can taste Jess' chocolate cherry lip gloss on his tongue, as his hand explores the curves of her back. Her fingers have found their way to Nick's butt, of all places. She's got her hands in the back pockets of his jeans. An image crosses Nick's mind of his rubber chicken tattoo. It's smiling at him, and winking. The disturbing image causes Nick's eyes to fly open in confusion.

It is then that he sees it . . . a familiar building. It's a place he's probably looked at about ten times a day from this very apartment window. He never thought about it. It never really meant anything to him . . . _until now_. "Jess," Nick says in her ear.

"Yeah," she replies, her voice amorous and tinged with passion.

"We have to stop," he says reluctantly.

"Later," she replies, petulantly, as she begins kissing the area behind Nick's ear, a notorious sweet spot of his.

Nick closes his eyes, and lets out a moan, losing himself for a minute. Eventually, he has to physically push Jess away to return to his senses. She looks up at him with a mixture of shock and hurt. Those eyes . . . that look . . . it kills him.

"Jess, I know where Sarah is!"

"You do?" Jess inquires, as she watches Nick's eyes light up with the excitement of his realization. "Oh my God, you DO!" She says excitedly, as she throws her arms around Nick appreciatively.

Immediately, Nick begins to feel the familiar stirring in his pants, and, of course, on his butt tattoo. "OK . . . we _really_ should not be touching now," he warns.

"You're right," Jess replies, as she obediently, relinquishes Nick from her grasp. "Sarah . . . we have to find Sarah . . . my _boyfriend's_ kid . . . who is _missing_," She reminds herself sternly, feeling more than a bit guilty about the events of the past few minutes. "But where is she?"

"She's closer than you think," replies Nick with a wink, as he heads toward the door, gallantly holding it opening for Jess. "After you . . . _Miss_ Instant Gratification."


	3. Chapter 3

"This is bad, Nick. Sooo bad," Jess mutters under her breath, as the pair enter the dark, musty smelling, cave-like atmosphere that comprises the tattoo shop, _All Tatted Up_. "I feel like we just walked onto the set of the movie, _Hostel. _How am I going to explain _this_ to Russell and Ouli?"

Nick shrugs his shoulders, as he cautiously surveys his surroundings. Jess is right. This place gives a whole new meaning to the word "creepy." Knowing that there's a good chance he got his_ own_ tattoo in a place just like this gives him the chills. He pats his butt gently, in a shallow attempt to apologize to it.

"With any luck, you won't have to explain _anything_ to them," Nick says reassuringly. "We'll find her. We'll bring her home. And then we'll bribe her with . . . I don't know . . . candy . . . or old episodes _Gossip Girl_ . . . something . . . so she won't tell her parents. It's going to be fine, you'll see."

"Says the guy who fought with a chicken, and wound up with it permanently etched on his butt cheek," Jess remarks, as she accidentally knocks into a tray of needles that scatter to the floor.

Embarrassed by her clumsiness, Jess immediately bends down to clean up the mess she made. On instinct, Nick places his hand in front of her chest, shielding her from the less-than-sanitary looking needles. The surprise gesture of chivalry on her roommate's part isn't lost on Jess (nor is the fact that his hand is currently cupping her left breast). "Ohhhh," she manages to utter, as her eyes travel downward toward the hand in question.

"I . . . ah . . . wouldn't touch anything in here, if I were you," Nick explains sternly, not yet realizing what he has done.

"_What_? Why are you looking at me like that? _Ohhhh_ . . ." he says sheepishly mimicking Jess' earlier response, as his brain becomes immediately flooded with the images and sensations of his and Jess' recent, almost R-rated, Kitchen Encounter.

Nick removes his hand quickly, and returns it safely to his pocket.

Jess smiles awkwardly, desperate to diffuse the sexual tension emanating between them. "Whatever you say, Chicken Butt. You're the tattoo expert," she offers a bit too loudly.

They find Sarah sitting on a ratty red couch, thumbing through some much-abused tattoo books. Upon seeing the pair, Sarah grins and waves excitedly. "Hey guys! You've gotta see this book! It's REALLY dirty! There's this entire page in the back with naked ladies on it. You can even see their boobies."

An intrigued Nick makes a move toward the book. However, a pointed look of judgment from Jess stops him in his tracks. "Party pooper," he sulks, folding his arms across his chest.

"Sarah, please tell me you didn't get a tattoo," Jess pleads, her eyes wide like saucers.

"Are you two this girl's parents?" a deep gravelly voice inquires from the back of the room.

The owner of All _Tatted Up_ looks precisely like the kind of guy you'd expect to be running a tattoo parlor. He is about 6'4'' and 350 pounds. His head is shaved and entirely covered with tattoos, which run down the length of his face, neck, and both of his ridiculously muscular arms. Additionally, he has a number of rather painful looking piercings on his face. This combination gives him the unique appearance of a giant lizard that has somehow gotten himself caught in a chain link fence.

Nick and Jess, who, moments earlier had been standing shoulder to shoulder with one another, take one long look at each other now, followed by a mutual giant step apart.

"No . . . nooooo, definitely not," replies Nick, shaking his head vigorously, afraid to meet Jess' eyes.

Jess, of course, deals with this inquiry the same way she does with most questions that make her feel uncomfortable . . . she babbles. "Oh, no sir. We are NOT parents! We aren't even married. Nick and I are just roommates. Even though, before we got here, things got really out of hand, and we ki . . ."

"Jess, I think he gets it," Nick interrupts.

"Nick's not my dad, Mr. Tattoo Man. He's my boyfriend," pipes in Sarah.

The tattoo shop owner's eyes narrow, as he glares judgmentally at Nick. Jess lets out a snort, and has to cover her hand over her mouth to stifle her giggling. Nick suddenly looks like he's about to vomit.

"Now, Sarah, tell the nice man that that's not the truth," Jess says in her best school teacher voice.

Sarah pouts. "Fine! He's not my boyfriend. But he would be, if he wasn't totally in loooove with _her_," she says, pointing her finger accusatorily at Jess. "Come on, it's like soooo obvious!"

Nick blinks hard, as he feels his ears get hot again. "Kids . . . they say the darndest things," he says conversationally to the tattoo artist.

Jess casts a sidelong glance at Nick, but turns abruptly away, when he catches her doing it. _Is Sarah right? Is Nick in love with me? Do I want him to be?_

The tattoo artist rolls his eyes, clearly un-amused by the spectacle that has just presented itself in his place of business. Jess takes his apparent boredom as a sign that the three of them should leave. "Well, sorry we bothered you, sir. But we should really get going now. Come on, Sarah! Maybe you can get _all tatted up_ some other time . . . like in ten years," Jess exclaims, motioning vigorously for Sarah to leave.

"That kid is not going anywhere with you," replies the tattoo artist defensively.

Nick responds to this with his trademark turtle face. "Um, sorry buddy, but she kind of_ is_," he challenges.

Sarah, however, remains glued to her chair. "He called my mom." She admits dejectedly. "She's coming right now to pick me up."

Both Jess' and Nick's jaws drop open simultaneously. "What . . ." Jess begins to stutter in disbelief. "He did _what_?"

Nick shakes his head, patting Jess on the shoulder sympathetically, while muttering under his breath. "Ohhhh Jess, you are _soooo grounded_."

But Jess isn't about to give up without a fight. She has charmed many men much harder than this tattoo artist (though none of them had looked quite so reptilian). "What's your name, sir?" She asks coyly.

Nick rolls his eyes, recognizing exactly what Jess is trying to do, and feeling quite certain she's going to fail miserably.

"People call me Razor," replies the tattoo artist, as he gives Jess a lascivious up-and-down look, which gives _Nick_ the sudden and irrational urge to punch him in the face.

"Razor . . . that's such an original name!" Jess exclaims cheerily. "Listen, Razor. I'm hoping you can help me out. You see, I really want Sarah's father to think I did a good job babysitting her. And he won't think that if her mom comes and finds her kid here . . . _no offense_. So, do you think that maybe you could do me a favor . . . and um, call her back, and tell her you made a _mistake_?"

Razor looks humbled for a moment. "I'm sorry, miss. No can do. This young lady tried to pass herself off as 18, so that she could get a female chicken tattooed on her right butt cheek."

(Upon hearing this, Jess glares pointedly at Nick, who raises his palms outward in a placatory gesture.)

"I've been burned one too many times by teenagers with fake IDs, and their angry parents. Another lawsuit would bankrupt this place. I'm not taking any chances," Razor concludes.

"It's OK. I understand. You are just doing your job," offers Jess morosely, as her eyes well up with tears.

The minute Nick sees the look on her face, it breaks his heart. Despite having, just moments earlier, promised himself that he wasn't going to touch her again for the rest of the day, Nick pulls Jess into his arms for a Sorry-Your-Boyfriend-Is-Probably-Going to-Dump-You-Even-Though-I'm-Not-Really-Sorry-Because-I'm-Secretly-in-Love-with-You Hug. In response, Jess gratefully buries her head in the warmth of Nick's chest, so that Sarah and Razor won't see her cry.

And that's the exact moment when Ouli chooses to enter the tattoo shop.

"Oh, honey, are you OK? What have these _bad, bad_ people done to you?" The older woman exclaims, as her eyes shoot daggers in Nick's and Jess' general direction, causing them to abruptly break apart from their embrace.

Sarah rushes into her mother's arms. "Oh mom, it was terrible! They were doing all these sexy things together in the bathroom. And Jess kept talking about how BIG something of Nick's was, and how much she wanted to touch it. Then, they dragged me here, and tried to get me to get a tattoo on my butt," Sarah fibs . . . shrugging and mouthing "sorry," to Jess and Nick, when her mother isn't looking.

"You are SUCH a liar!" Nick exclaims incredulously. "Liar, liar, pants on FIRE!"

Sarah responds by sticking out her tongue, and blowing him a kiss.

"Oh gosh, Ouli. You have to know that's not true . . . Nick and I never . . ." Jess begins to explain.

"NO . . . I don't want to hear it," interrupts Ouli. "I had a terrible feeling about you from the very beginning. And now I see I was right. Wait until my husband hears about this," she threatens. "Come on Sarah, let's get out of here," she concludes, as she pulls her daughter from the tattoo shop.

"OH MY GOD . . . FOR THE LAST TIME, STOP CALLING HIM YOUR HUSBAND! HE'S NOT YOUR HUSBAND ANYMORE," Jess shouts in frustration at Ouli's back.

Ouli turns and smiles malevolently. "Perhaps . . . but with any luck, when I'm through with him, you won't be able to call him your _boyfriend _anymore, either," she replies calmly.

After watching Ouli 's and Sarah's backs disappear toward the parking lot, Nick puts his arm around Jess, and the two of them walk silently back to their apartment.

Less than an hour later, there is a knock at their door. "Jess, we need to talk," says the voice on the other side.

It's Russell.

**Author's Note: Don't worry. Despite how it might seem, I've found a way to eliminate Russell almost entirely from the next chapter. This is a Nick and Jess Story, after all. ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

Winston, Schmidt and Nick are crammed onto the couch, ostensibly watching, but not particularly paying attention to, an old _Seinfeld _rerun. Nick cringes and turns up the volume on the television, as the distinctive sounds of Jess and Russell fighting reverberate from the closed door of her bedroom. "Well, _this_ is awkward," Schmidt mutters, his voice drowned out by the cacophony of noises in the apartment.

"_What_?" Nick asks.

"I SAID . . . THIS IS AWKWARD," yells back Schmidt.

On the television, George Costanza is explaining the concept of _shrinkage_. "I was in the pool!" He exclaims, hands tugging defensively at his swim trunks. "I was in the pool!"

Nick turns the volume on the television back down.

"This reminds me of when my parents used to fight, back when I was a kid. Right now, I have this sudden urge to hide under my bed, and suck my thumb," Winston remarks, hugging himself tightly.

"You _were _a thumb sucker! I knew it!" Schmidt announces. "That's why your nail beds are such a disaster."

"They _are not_," Winston retorts, looking self consciously at the tips of his fingers.

Meanwhile, Nick keeps casting furtive glances toward Jess' bedroom door. "I don't know, guys. I just . . . I feel like I should be doing something to help her. I mean, I _am_ partly responsible for what happened today."

Schmidt ruffles Nick's hair, as if he's a dog, who just succeeded in rolling over on command. "Nick . . . buddy . . . take it from someone with experience in these matters. When a woman decides to brand herself, as a sign of her undying devotion to you, there is nothing you, or anyone else, can do to stop her."

Winston shakes his head, and smirks. "OK, Schmidt . . . tell me _one_ time when a woman tattooed herself for you."

Schmidt thinks about this for a moment. "Sharon Anderson . . . sophomore year," he replies confidently.

Winston rolls his eyes. "That wasn't a tattoo, you jerk. She just got drunk, and let you write, 'Property of Schmidt' on her boob in permanent marker."

"Same difference," Schmidt pouts.

Nick, of course, hasn't been listening to any of this, as he distractedly runs his hand through his hair. "You guys don't understand. This isn't just about Sarah." He takes a deep breath. "OK . . . I wasn't going to tell you this. And I really hope this doesn't make things weird in the house. But . . . earlier today . . . Jess and I . . . well, we kind of . . . _kissed_."

Schmidt grins widely. "_Today_? You kissed her _today_?"

Nick furrows his brow. This is not exactly the response he was expecting. "Uh . . . yeah . . . I did, Schmidt."

"And, just so we are clear, what day is today . . . on the calendar, I mean?"

"It's Wednesday . . . the 15th," Nick says cautiously, not quite sure where his roommate is going with this.

Upon hearing this, Schmidt immediately bounces up from the couch and positions himself directly in front of Winston, his arm outstretched in the universal sign for "money." "Oh yeah, that's right! Pay up, son!" He exclaims triumphantly.

Winston grumbles, digs into his pocket, and slaps a crumpled $20 dollar bill into his eager roommate's waiting palm.

Nick's jaw drops, as he looks from one roommate to another. "Am I missing something here . . . or were you two actually betting on when I would kiss Jess . . . _while _she was dating someone else?

Still basking in the glow of his recent victory, a cocksure Schmidt returns to his spot on the couch. "We actually made the bet the day you and Julia broke up. The timeline was three weeks. I took 'under,' and Winston took 'over' . . . because, clearly, he doesn't know you, like I do."

"Dammit, Nick!" Winston grouses. "You couldn't just keep it in your pants for two more days . . . Mister Instant Gratification."

_I've been called that a lot today._ Nick thinks to himself. "You know, I'm not going to lie, this makes me feel a little used and dirty," he muses.

Schmidt shakes his head. "Come on, Nick. Have you _seen_ you two together, lately? Every day, it's like watching the first ten minutes of a porno, before you get to the good stuff. Easiest money I ever made!"

At that moment, Russell comes barging out of Jess' bedroom, looking furious.

"Hey, Russell . . . I . . . uh . . . I hope we can still be friends after this," Nick calls after the older man.

The door slams abruptly. And, just like that, the Fancyman is gone.

"I still kind of love you," he adds hopefully to the empty space that Russell used to occupy.

"He is never going to play True American with us ever again, is he?" Winston mutters sadly.

"Not a chance," responds Schmidt.

_A short time later . . ._

Jess is huddled in her bed, with her knees tucked into her chest, while she listens (and sings along to) "All by Myself," by Celine Dion at top volume. Suddenly, she hears a tentative triple-knock at her door. It's Nick.

Jess looks up at her roommate dolefully, her always rosy cheeks looking ever-so-slightly blotchy from a recent crying jag. "I wouldn't come near me, if I were you," Jess warns petulantly. "I might traumatize your future children for life."

Nick smiles, as a wave of tenderness washes over him. Even after crying her eyes out, Jess somehow manages to still look gorgeous. Sometimes he finds himself wondering if she is even real.

"Nah," he says nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders. "Nick Junior is a pretty resilient little guy. He doesn't traumatize that easily."

Jess' eyes widen. "_Nick Junior_ . . . is that what you call your . . . _chicken head_" she pauses uncomfortably, inclining her head exaggeratedly toward her roommate's pants.

Nick rolls his eyes. "It's _my kid_, Jess . . . I'm talking about my fake kid."

Jess blushes. "Oh . . . oops! Well, then, I'm sorry I called you a wiener, Nick Junior," Jess says sheepishly to the imaginary child standing next to Nick.

"He forgives you," Nick replies, before shyly motioning toward the bed. "Uhh . . . may I?"

"Sure," Jess replies, scooting over slightly to make room for Nick.

They are sitting shoulder-to-shoulder now. Jess finds the warmth of Nick's body both comforting and arousing. There's a part of her that wants to rest her head on his chest, and give in to the uncontrollable sobs that have been threatening to take over her body, ever since Russell left. And yet there's another, even stronger, part of her that wants to rip Nick's flannel off, toss it to the ground, and ravage his body like a feral cat. Instead, she just forces herself to sit up a little straighter, bravely raising her eyes to meet Nick's steady gaze, while waiting to hear what he has to say.

"So . . . um . . . remember when I first broke up with Julia. And you came into my room and gave me that plant?" Nick begins conversationally.

Jess grins at the recent memory. "Of course, I do! I still visit it every night and sing it show tunes, while you're at work, to promote its growth and well-being."

"Well, that's . . . ah . . . nice for the plant, I guess," Nick offers. "Anyway . . . I didn't know it at the time, but that plant was exactly what I needed to get through a very dark period in my life. You really helped me, Jess. And now . . . I'd like the chance to try and return the favor."

"So, you bought me a plant?" Jess inquires skeptically.

"Yes," Nick replies. "Well . . . no . . . I didn't _literally_ get you a plant. But _metaphorically . . ._ I . . . OK . . . just . . . here," he says finally, handing Jess the brown paper bag he's been hiding behind his back, since he entered the room.

Jess looks up at Nick with curiosity, as she takes the bag, and gently empties its contents onto her bed.

Nick looks away, suddenly feeling embarrassed about his gift. "I . . . uh . . . went out and got it for you, while you and Russell were in here . . _. talking_."

Jess reads the label on the back of the package out loud, "_Temporary Tattoo . . . wet skin thoroughly, before applying_. Awww, Nick! You got me a baby chicken tattoo," she coos, holding the piece of paper up to the light, so she can see it better.

Nick grins widely, clearly pleased with Jess' response. "Not just_ any_ baby chicken tattoo," Nick explains. "See how it's wearing those little black emo glasses on his face? That's Chicken Little."

Jess nods gleefully. "You're right. That _is_ Chicken Little!" Then she frowns. "Wait . . . isn't that the story where the little chicken thinks the sky is falling, so he gets all his friends to hide in the fox's den for shelter. And then, at the end of the story, the fox eats them all?"

Nick grimaces. "Wow . . . I should really have paid more attention during Kindergarten story time."

Jess pushes the tattoo back toward her roommate. "Umm . . . is this your snarky Nick-way of telling me that I'm destined to be eaten by a fox?"

Nick puts his palm to his forehead, as if this conversation is giving him a headache, which actually isn't that far from the truth. "NO! Absolutely not. Man, I knew I should have gone with the plant. You see, Chicken Little got all upset, because he thought the world was ending. But all it ended up being was a loose wood chip."

Nick continues, "When I first broke up with Caroline . . . and dropped out of law school . . . and got a chicken tattooed on my ass . . . I really thought my life was over. I thought I'd never be happy again . . . never fall in love again. The same thing happened with Julia. But it wasn't true, either time."

"The sky wasn't really falling. I just _thought_ it was. You were the one who helped me see that. And the sky isn't falling on _you_ either, Jess. So . . . you almost got an 11-year old girl, all tatted up. So . . . your rich boyfriend dumped you for it. _So what?_ It doesn't mean you aren't going to find love again. In fact, you'll probably find it a lot sooner than you think," he concludes, a bit wistfully, eyes suddenly becoming focused on the floor.

Jess sighs, as she absentmindedly runs her finger across the surface of the tattoo. "But what if I'm not Chicken Little? What if I'm a Fox?"

Nick raises his eyebrows and smirks. "Way to be modest about your appearance, Jess," he jokes.

Jess blushes, and pokes Nick in the chest with her elbow. "I'm saying . . . what if I don't _deserve_ happiness . . . or love, because, deep down, I'm a terrible person? I mean, look at me. In the course of 24-hours, I practically forced you to take off your pants, and show me your ass. You know, that's considered rape in some countries. I almost lost an eleven-year old girl in a tattoo parlor run by a guy named Razor. My boyfriend leaves town for a day . . . and I . . ."

Nick grabs Jess firmly by the shoulders. "You're kidding, right? Jess, you're the kindest, warmest, most ridiculously giving person I know. For heaven sakes, even gun-toting lunatics, homeless drug addicts, and pervy landlords like you! Don't let _this_ . . . what we did. . ."

Jess brushes her hand gently across Nick's slightly stubbly cheek, causing him to instantly lose his train of thought. "Thank you, Nick," she says softly. "For the tattoo . . . for everything you just said . . . for being there for me today, when I really needed it . . . for _always_ being there for me, when I need it. You're so much more amazing than you ever give yourself credit for, Nick Miller."

Now, it's Nick's turn to blush. "Jess . . . I" He fumbles for the right words.

"So, are you going to help me put on this tattoo or what?" Jess interrupts, a mischievous smile turning up the corners of her mouth.

"I think I can manage that. Where do you want it?" He inquires, shaking himself out of his trance.

With a grin, Jess gets on all fours, and shoves her ass in Nick's face. Nick's eyes widen, as he tries to tame a now-familiar stirring that his currently creeping up below his belt. "So . . . you want me to tattoo your butt . . . with a _chicken_. OK . . . as long as you're sure" he says amusedly, as he moves his hand toward the fabric of Jess' sweatpants, and begins to gently tug it downward.

Jess turns her head back toward Nick, with a naughty wink. "Got ya!" She says cheerily.

"I knew that," fibs Nick, shrugging his shoulders. "I totally knew that."

"Actually, I think I want it on my back. Rumor has it people with back tats are bad ass," Jess replies.

"You know, I've heard that about people with back tats too" replies Nick with a nod. "Come sit over here, we can use the water from that bottle," he offers, grabbing the Poland Spring bottle from Jess' nightstand, and pouring a bit into his palm.

Jess sidles up toward Nick, and pulls her shirt down over her left shoulder blade, so that the soft ivory skin on her back is exposed. Nick then gently brushes her dark hair from her shoulder, and begins to rub his wet palm across the surface of her back. Jess closes her eyes and smiles, as Nick reaches over and grabs the tattoo. As he presses it into her back, Nick can smell the intoxicating scent of Jess' vanilla bodywash, and strawberry shampoo. He bites his lip, not sure how much more of this his poor sexually frustrated body can take.

Jess shivers involuntarily, as she feels Nick's soft, warm, breath on the back of her neck.

"All done," Nick says, as he gently removes the paper from Jess' shoulder blade.

"How does it look?" Jess asks curiously, turning her head abruptly, so that her face is inches from Nick's own.

"Beautiful," he says huskily.

He's clearly not talking about the Chicken Little tattoo.

"Nick," Jess whispers staring at him intently.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry I raped your face with my tongue today."

Nick smiles. "I'm not," he replies.

"Really? Are you sure?" Jess inquires, moving closer to him.

Nick nods.

"Good . . . because I was actually lying about being sorry," Jess admits, as she gently pushes him backward on the bed, ripping open his shirt with her deft fingertips, as she'd been wanting to do, ever since he entered the room.

_Sure, he's her roommate, which will inevitably cause problems somewhere down the line. And, yeah, she technically just got out of a relationship, about an hour ago. Then again, perhaps, one of the benefits of always thinking that the sky is falling is that it causes you to live life to its fullest . . . since every moment, might be your last. _Jess thinks to herself. Then, Nick starts kissing her neck, and she stops thinking entirely . . .

As Nick's hands move furtively up Jess' back, tugging intently at the fabric of her t-shirt, he catches a glimpse of her brand new temporary Chicken Little tattoo. This time, he's quite certain it's winking at him. So, he winks right back, before turning off the lamp on Jess' bedside table.

Outside on the couch, a very pissed off looking Schmidt returns a familiar looking $20 dollar bill to a smug-looking Winston, as the distinct sound of amorous moans can be heard emanating from Jess' bedroom. "Damn . . . you know, I really did think they were going to wait until tomorrow," Schmidt grumbles. "Can't we do like a best two out of three, or something?"

"Sorry Schmidtty," replies Winston gleefully. "But all is fair in love and chicken tattoos."


End file.
